


Fifteen Minutes

by diogenesdarling



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Cigarettes, Gen, Peter Parker - Freeform, Smoking, The Father Figure, The Man - Freeform, The Myth, tony stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11654265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diogenesdarling/pseuds/diogenesdarling
Summary: Peter Parker just needs a few minutes to collect himself before he goes on patrol every afternoon, it's no big deal. And it's also no big deal that those few minutes include a couple of cigarettes, right?A quick look into Peter and Tony's relationship through a bit of teenage rebellion.





	Fifteen Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> My last one-shot was drinking, this one's smoking...I guess I'm just really liking "edgy" high school tropes right now haha but here we are, another Spider-Man story. Enjoy!

Peter wasn’t a destructive sort of kid. He was trying to help people, trying to learn how to be a responsible superhero, trying to _be better_ , just like Mr. Stark told him.

 

He spent all of his time working to be good, from perfecting his schoolwork to “constructively” using his spare time with Ned (their 2x3 foot X-wing model was looking so great) to making sure Spider-Man was always squeaky clean, and there wasn’t anything that was out of line in his life.

 

At least, that May knew about.

 

People were watching both of his identities closely, there in a moment if he ever slipped up. Which was nice, to know he always had backup, but sometimes Peter wanted something that didn’t fall under his or Spider-Man’s MOs. He wanted to do something that wasn’t exactly what everyone expected of him. He wanted something, just one thing, that no one else knew about.

 

So, Peter Parker decided on cigarettes.

 

Sure, they were illegal, but not terribly so and only because he was underage. They couldn’t hurt him very badly, since he only smoked infrequently and his body could handle far more than an average person’s without anything beyond a trace of lasting effects. And they were _only his_ , something Ned and May and Mr. Stark — hell, even Karen — didn’t know about. Just him. Just Peter.

 

Uncle Ben used to smoke, when he was much younger. He’d told Peter about it, said that he was glad he was able to kick the habit before Peter came to live with them. He’d picked it up from his dorm friends in college (just one of several things he’d tried in that time of his life), and the smoking in particular had stayed with him for years. May hated it, enough to convince Ben to quit.

 

“That’s the funny thing about loving someone, Peter,” Uncle Ben had told him when he was nine and said he never wanted to be in love. “When you love someone, truly, with everything in you, you’d do anything to be the best version of yourself, because that’s who they deserve.”

 

Every time he looked at the red and white pack he kept in the ceiling hideaway in his bedroom, Peter thought about his uncle. Ben was the closest thing to a dad Peter could remember; he was Peter’s best confidant, his favorite voice to hear. Peter knew Ben would be disappointed if he were there, watching him tuck a lighter and three individual cigarettes into a pencil pouch at the bottom of his backpack, but it was the only thing Peter could think of that struck a balance between reckless and reasonable. And after weeks of paying strangers in convenience stores to get him the packs, he was used to his routine.

 

Directly after school, that was his time. Right before his transition from high schooler to superhero. Peter went into alleys, far back in the dark, and spent fifteen minutes just smoking. It calmed him down, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the nicotine. He didn’t think it would affect him very much at all, given his new metabolic rate and physical resilience. But the quiet, the focus, the removal from both of his lives, that was what really gave him the chance to relax.

 

He had two rules for when he was smoking:

  1. No thinking about schoolwork.
  2. No thinking about saving people.



 

Fifteen minutes, Peter figured, was reasonable enough to warrant thinking about anything besides his biggest responsibilities. Many times he wondered if he should just be spending that same time just sitting quietly, no phone in hand, and no cigarette, either. But it was the edge, the knowledge that he was doing something wrong — but not too wrong. That’s what made this time valuable. 

 

He knew it was stupid, to want to be “bad” and break the rules. He knew that he would regret everything the second someone found out, which was bound to happen. It had happened enough times with his astronomically bigger secret. But he did it anyway, and he didn’t much care to examine his motives far beyond, “I want to, and it feels good.” So, being the fifteen-year-old kid he was, Peter kept doing it.

 

Months passed of this fifteen-minute weekday smoke break. He’d get off school, chain smoke exactly three cigarettes, put on his suit, and help people. It worked perfectly, and he loved it.

 

Until the worst person who could find out found him in an alley, cigarette in hand.

 

“Mr. Stark!” he yelped, dropping the cigarette and standing up in a whirlwind of jacket and backpack and dread. “What are you doing here?”

 

Usually he could sense when someone was coming, but he’d been distracted by not paying attention to anything for a few sweet, short minutes, and now he’d gone and ruined everything.

 

“Hey, kid. I need you with me today. Nothing big, no emergency. Just some training I’ve been meaning to do with you. I was in the city, thought I’d pick you up after school.” Mr. Stark was standing a few feet away with a strange look on his face.

 

“…Ok. How did you know where to find me?” Peter asked slowly, suspicious of the answer he realized he already knew.

 

“The tracker also works when the suit not actually on you know. Safety precaution, anti-theft, a bunch of reasons.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Yeah, ‘oh’. What were you doing just now?” Mr. Stark’s arms were crossed, not really asking a question but demanding an explanation.

 

“I was just about to change into my suit and go on patrol,” Peter made himself look directly at Mr. Stark’s eyes.

 

“That’s not what I asked. _What were you doing just now?_ ”

 

Silence.

 

“Peter, since when do you smoke cigarettes? That’s not like you. You know exactly how bad they are for you, dammit, you’re smart enough. What are you thinking?” Mr. Stark didn’t yell, but Peter could feel the anger (and…disappointment?) in his words.

 

_I’m thinking it’s my own business_ , Peter wanted to say, but couldn’t bring himself to be disrespectful to his mentor, or whatever it was that Mr. Stark had come to be in his life.

 

“I— I don’t think it’s a big deal, Mr. Stark, honestly. Smoke doesn’t hurt my lungs, I swear. At least not as much as I smoke, which is barely anything! Please don’t tell Aunt May, she’ll flip out.”

 

“Yeah, she should! You’re a kid, Peter, and she’s your guardian, and you are definitely not old enough to determine that you can _smoke_ _cigarettes_ without consequences! That’s not allowed, not with me, and not with May. Get your backpack and get in the car, now.”

 

Peter stood for a moment, staring at Mr. Stark. He’d blown it again. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, very aware of the last cigarette still sitting in the bottom of the bag. They walked to Mr. Stark’s car, parked right outside the alley.

 

“Happy, change of plans. We’re going to Peter’s apartment.” 

 

Peter looked at Mr. Stark with wide eyes.

 

“Are you going to tell her?”

 

“I haven’t decided.”

 

“She’d— this would be really bad for her to hear. She’s still not over the whole spider thing, this would make her freak out, honestly, she can’t know, Mr. Stark. Especially this. If I were smoking weed or drinking or, like, anything else, that’d be way different. I mean, she’d be mad, sure, but she _can not_ know about this. Please, please don’t say anything.”

 

Mr. Stark whipped to the side, staring straight at Peter.

 

“Then why, for the love of everything, would you choose cigarettes if that’s the worst thing you could have done according to the person who cares about you more than anyone else? Why?” His voice was low and dangerous, and Peter leaned backward into the seat.

 

“I don’t know, it’s complicated.”

 

“Don’t give me that crap.”

 

Peter sighed, running a hand over his face. Of course this would happen. How was he going to explain this to the guy who held his standards for Peter even higher than May did? He decided to stick with the facts.

 

“I smoke three cigarettes per school day, no more. I spend exactly fifteen minutes — I time it — after school, before I go on patrol, and I smoke those three. That’s it, that’s all that happens, and it’s not a problem.”

 

“First of all, that doesn’t tell me _why_. And you don’t get to decide if it’s a problem.”

 

“No one has to decide,” Peter replied, a little too quickly.

 

Mr. Stark was quiet for a few long, long moments.

 

“Kid, listen. I don’t really want to be your babysitter, that’s not what I’m trying to do, and that’s probably the last thing on earth I’d want to be. You know how stupid you’re being, obviously, or you wouldn’t have been hiding away in a back alley. I don’t really want to know all the details of your life, but I am involved in at least the Spider-Man part — and a lot of your life is Spider-Man, that’s just a fact.”

 

“Spider-Man isn’t the one smoking, though.” _That was probably the weakest argument I’ve ever made_ , Peter thought as soon as he spoke.

 

Mr. Stark was silent again, probably thinking the same thing as Peter. 

 

They arrived outside the Parker’s apartment building too soon. Peter made no move to get out of the car, and neither did Mr. Stark. They sat quietly for longer than Peter had ever witnessed Mr. Stark hold still, which he assumed was a very, very bad thing.

 

“Keep going, Happy,” he said eventually, then turned to Peter. “This does not mean you’re off the hook, but I’m not going to tell May. You’re right, she’s not over the spider thing, and this doesn’t need to be on her mind on top of everything else. But we’re going to find you something else to do, okay? Do you have any more cigarettes on you right now?”

 

Peter knew better than to lie right now. He nodded. “Just one.”

 

“There’s a training center I keep in the city, that’s where we’re headed. When we get there, you’re going to go in a room and smoke that cigarette, and it’s going to be your last one. Ever. Got it?”

 

Peter nodded again.

 

“Good. Then, we’re going to find you something to replace it. If I ever, ever find out that you’re smoking again — and believe me, I have my ways of knowing — then we’re done. Through. I’ll take the suit back immediately. I don’t want to, but I’m not going to put up with you getting into bad habits if I can stop it.”

 

A third nod, then, “Why are you trying to help me? This doesn’t really fall under your…It’s not your job to…why?” Peter felt stupid for how he asked, but he couldn’t say what he really wanted to know. _Why do you care?_

 

Mr. Stark sighed and looked out the window. “You’re a handful, Peter, there’s not one doubt about that. But you’re worth the time, and the effort, and the headaches. I, uh, I wish someone had taken drinks out of my hand and drugs out of my pockets when I was your age, and a lot older. It wasn’t anyone’s job to do that, though, and I ended up worse for it. I’m not going to let it get that far with you, even though I doubt it ever would.”

 

He looked straight at Peter. “You’re gonna go far, kid, and you need to keep your head on straight. I know it’s just a couple of cigarettes, but one step in the wrong direction is one too many.”

 

Peter gave a final nod, then looked quickly at the back of the seat in front of him. Mr. Stark had sounded a lot — no, _exactly_ — like Ben for those few seconds. A lump was forming in his throat, and he croaked out a small “Oh…thanks,” while he still could, then looked out his own window.

 

He shut his eyes and couldn’t help but imagine that Ben was sitting next to him, as if the past nine months without him there had never existed. Peter rested his forehead against the cool glass and tried not to think about it until they arrived at the training center.

 

Smoking that last cigarette was harder than Peter expected. He felt so _calm_ for those few minutes; his senses were tuned inward instead of out, his hand and mouth moved automatically, and he forgot that Mr. Stark was down the hall, waiting for him to finish, and probably still thinking about how disappointing Peter had been that afternoon. As he shut the door behind him, cigarette butt smoldering between his fingers for the last time, everything came rushing back and he wanted nothing more than to hide in the now-smokey room for a couple hours.

 

Training was fine, once he got there. He learned some new hand-to-hand combat techniques and more efficient ways to use his webs. Mr. Stark was nearby, working on some tablet the whole time Peter was with the ex-SHIELD trainer. By the end of two hours of intense work, Peter was exhausted and sweating. He followed Mr. Stark back down to the car in silence, but once he sat down the tablet Mr. Stark had been using was tossed into his lap.

 

“Here. This is what you’re gonna do every day. Fifteen minutes exactly.”

 

Peter looked at the image of a deconstructed arc reactor glowing at him from the screen.

 

Mr. Stark leaned over and flicked his wrist up, and the image turned into a holograph that hovered a few inches above the tablet, slowly turning 360 degrees.

 

“It’s just a design, but I’ll make this in the next few days. You can take it apart by hand and reconstruct it in fifteen minutes, if you’re going at a steady pace. The pieces aren’t too small, so you can still sit in your dark alleys and do it.”

 

Peter’s mouth fell open as he watched the glowing blueprint twirl in front of him. He’d assumed Mr. Stark was working on something, well, important that entire time, but he’d been making something just for Peter. Something beyond what Spider-Man needed, and something that Peter _loved_. He glanced at Mr. Stark in bewilderment.

 

“Thank you, thank you so much! I— I don’t really know what to say. This is awesome. This is beyond awesome, it’s…wow.” The last word came out as a whisper.

 

“‘It’s wow’? Sure you wanna keep that as your final statement?” Mr. Stark teased.

 

Peter grinned. “It’s wow,” he repeated. 

 

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, then took back the tablet. “Remember what I said, no more cigarettes. Not _one_. If you have more at home, throw them out as soon as you get back.” 

 

Peter nodded vigorously. “I will, I promise.”

 

“And,” Mr. Stark continued, “May’s going to hear from me if anything else like this goes down. No smoking, no drinking, no drugs. You’re Spider-Man, Peter. You’ve got to act responsibly. But if you ever get bogged down by everything, let me know. I’ll send over something to keep you busy. Got it?”

 

“Got it.” Peter couldn’t imagine trying anything out of line after today. The feeling of his hammering heart the moment he had first seen Mr. Stark in the alley would stay with him for a long time, he was sure, and every word Mr. Stark had said since then wouldn’t fade away in a hurry, either.

 

“Good.”

 

After Mr. Stark had dropped him off at home, Peter walked slowly up to the door of his apartment. He could hear the TV droning quietly from the other side, and he heard May unloading the dishwasher. He came in and dropped his bag on the floor by the couch, followed by his jacket, which still smelled a little like smoke, then went to the kitchen and wrapped his aunt in a hug.

 

“Oh, hi!” May hugged him back. “How was your day?”

 

Peter didn’t answer, but kept hugging her.

 

“Is everything ok?” she asked, rubbing his back.

 

“Yeah,” he whispered, then spoke a little louder. “Just glad to see you.” He didn’t say that he felt terrible for not letting himself tell her everything that had happened in the past few hours, or that he missed Ben far more than usual today, or how he had let down Mr. Stark yet again and hated himself for it, even though it had turned out alright.

 

She pulled back and ran her hands down his arms until they were grasped around his wrists. 

 

“Well, then, I’m glad to see you, too. Hungry?”

 

“Starving.”

 

“I’ve got spaghetti on the stove, but it needs to be warmed up…” she turned and pulled a clean plate from the open dishwasher.

 

“I’ll be right back, May,” Peter said, heading to his room. He shut the door behind him and climbed up to grab his cigarette carton from its hiding place above the ceiling tiles. Without a moment of hesitation, he shoved it into his wastebasket and wrapped it in old homework papers that were already crumpled in the bottom. Just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 

He pulled it out and saw a text from Mr. Stark.

 

_“See you at the training center in two days, I’ll have the reactor.”_

 

As he was walking back into the kitchen, Peter’s phone buzzed again.

 

_“You’re doing fine, kid.”_


End file.
